


Viatores

by niksthename



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Ancient Greece, Ancient Rome, Finn Skywalker, Gen, Greek AU, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Roman AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 04:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niksthename/pseuds/niksthename
Summary: Ancient Greek/Rome au where Finn is a demi-god and emperor of the Roman empire. Poe is a Greek king who marries Finn in a political alliance to keep peace in his land, only to find love alone the way. Classic, right?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prologue. Story to follow when I finish it. Thanks to J for beta-ing. Prologue was originally posed to tumblr for SW Finn Week!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn flees his post and rises in rank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published for SW Finn Week on tumblr as a prologue to the following fic. Hope you enjoy!

_He’s been so quiet all this time, what makes you think it’ll be now?_

_I don’t know, Leia. I just feel it. Keep your eyes open for him._

_How will I know what he looks like._

_He looks like his mother. You remember her?_

_Yes. Though I still wish you hadn’t coupled with that woman._

_You didn’t understand her. She was so gentle and kind, so happy. As radiant as the sun._

_How poetic._

_But the truth nonetheless._

Luke steps from the woods, his toga covered with a long, grey cloak. Leia falls in step beside him, her posture so much more sure and regal than his own. As they cross the field, their surroundings transform into a sea of red and metal. Every soldier in the camp turns a blind eye to them, unseeing as gods walk among them. Fires are lit as ducks are plucked and fish are gutted, vegetables cleaned and prepped for roasting. There’s a lacking joviality that lingers, the troops quiet past much more than murmurs or hushed whispers. The silence is eerie for what Luke knows of soldiers, but it speaks to their origin. Few are here by choice.

_There!_

Following his sister’s gaze, Luke lays eyes on a young soldier far across the camp. His hair is shorn close and uneven and his eyes shine bright in the reflection of the fire. Nothing looks particularly special about him yet, but he sits silently, only talking to one other soldier.

_What now, brother?_

_Now we wait._

——–~

The night passes uneventfully. Luke and Leia sit on either side of the boy, watching him wring his hands, eat in silence, remain otherwise quiet and to himself. There is one moment when he turns to look across the camp, but Luke can’t help but feel perhaps his son is looking directly at him. His eyes, large and deep, are piercing, and while it should be impossible, Luke is certain that he is, in some sense, being seen.

Morning comes and the troops awaken at the break of dawn. Camp is quickly torn down and packed away, soldiers clap on helmets and armor, grabbing shields and short swords. Luke catches a glimpse of silver armor, polished to high shine, but his attention is on the boy. A few short hours later finds Luke and Leia walking behind him, between rows of soldiers, looking around at troops marching toward battle.

 _Not battle,_ Leia remarks, _slaughter._

She’s right. They march down on a small Greek village. People are already fleeing but as the troops break into a run, it’s clear who’s stronger. Luke and Leia find themselves amongst the chaos as battle breaks out. Roman soldiers cut down all in their way. There is violence and bloodshed all around, but Luke has eyes for only one.

He follows the young man, sword in hand, feeling his heart clench as panic becomes clear on the young face. Luke has lost Leia, suspecting she’s gone off to assist the villagers in finding the courage and power to fight back, at least what little she can provide. This is hardly a hunt, after all.

They turn a corner and the young soldier comes face to face with a young woman. The moment hangs between them, devoid of the anarchy around them. There’s fear in the young woman’s eyes and Luke wishes he could bring her peace. There’s fear in his son’s eyes. His sword held aloft, the moment stretches on, and then Luke sees a change. Not in the young man, but the woman who should have been his victim. Her eyes flicker over his face, recognition of a kind in her eyes. Of humanity, maybe, or the same fear. Whatever she feels, she runs, and Luke’s son does not follow.

Luke steps around the soldier, sees the change in his eyes, _feels_ it. There’s a shout from behind them and a woman on horseback approaches, dismounts. Her armor is recognizable from the camp, polished to such a high shine it looks as if it has never seen battle. The anger rolling off her is palpable.

“You! You let that woman run free! Why?”

There’s a stuttering answer from the young man, and the woman doesn’t wait for him to get himself together before she carries on.

“In training and now in battle, you fail again and again, showing too much mercy, but this, this is an exceptional failure. If you cannot kill, you cannot be a soldier and then we have no use for you. And you-” She steps closer, looming over him in height and stature. “-you cannot kill.”

Luke holds his breath as she is proved wrong. So fast, it happens, that he wonders where the choice quite came from. Were he human, he’d be blinded by the light reflecting off her mangled armor. Her blood is so bright against the silver and leather that it seems almost fake. How could the human body create such a color?

But it is all too real when her body slumps, the sword through her chest pushed part way out, the blade stained with such red as to be almost unrecognizable. Such strength, to plunge it so deep. His son stands there, silence on his lips as he gapes at what he’s done. Luke steps back as the soldier bends at the waist and empties his stomach on the cracked, worn stone of the street. Leia reappears then, strolling up the street as though it were any other day, stopping short when she spies them.

_What is he doing?_

_Freeing himself._

The young man seems to right himself under their watchful eyes. He wipes his mouth and grabs his sword from his captain’s chest, then reaches for the horse. It rears, slipping the reins free from his hand, but a gentle touch from Leia settles the beast and allows the young man to mount. He takes off at canter, his handling of the horse far less clumsy than Luke would have expected.

_Seems he got some of my side of the family._

_Yes, now please make good use of it and find us horses to follow. I feel as though this is not the end of his journey._

Another mounted soldier goes riding past and Leia’s gentle touch sees the horse bucking its rider to the ground. She passes the reins to Luke with a promise to catch up and the god takes off after his son, not far behind.

Long behind the frontlines, a man in a black toga and no armor whatsoever stands among several other mounted men and women, overseeing the destruction from the hilltop. From afar, Luke watches the blur of the young man and his horse darting up the hill. His sword glints in the light of day as he rushes past the general dressed in black, parting the line of commanders with precision. Even from a distance, Luke can see the spray of red as his son rides past.

It takes a moment to process what has happened. As the rebel soldier turns for the vineyards and Luke approaches, the picture becomes more clear. The others in command are moving back, horses turning the land under their nervous hooves. A black blur falls from the same mount the young man rode past a moment before. Another few seconds and Like stops short, looking down at a head of ginger hair turned redder by blood. His body lies a few feet away, wetting the grass and splashing crimson onto the horse’s white legs as it stamps uneasily.

——-~

The hills slope gentle to the nearby sea but here they are marked by the neat rows of a vineyard. A marble courtyard and temple top the hill, a few men lingering in the morning sun, trying wines. Luke looks for the young soldier, spots his armor in a pile on the ground and the horse grazing nearby. Looking carefully up the hill, he sees a flash of red amongst the green and purple and brown. There’s no way Luke will reach the top in time, not in this form.

Taking the road leading up behind the temple, Luke moves at a canter, unseen by guards and soldiers alike. He abandons the horse outside, moving swift through the tall columns. For just a moment, he stops short at two statues, back to back in the center of the temple. They tower above him as he stands in this form, but in truth he is so much larger. Much to his amusement, his and Leia’s faces look young, but even gods age. On the pedestals on which they stand are inscriptions. _Apollo, God of the Sun, Protector of Truth_ and _Diana, Goddess of the Moon, Leader of the Hunt._ Funny that they never got the names right, but not something they could or would fix. With an amused spring in his step, he continues through the long hall until he stands at the top of the steps leading down to the courtyard. Just in time.

There are perhaps a dozen or so people, but only one catches his attention. A mangled, scarred man in a bright toga picta. The fabric is a vibrant purple unlike any Luke has seen, trimmed in gold that glitters in the sun. It cuts sharp against the faded grey and white of the man’s heavy scarring. It seems his son’s freedom is destined to be bathed in color.

Like a flash, the boy darts from the tangled vines, sword drawn. At the edge of the courtyard, he halts. Since seeing him lose his stomach in the street, it seems he’s gathered an air of power about him. Luke watches him and the emperor size each other up. The guards at either side of the temple stir and begin to advance, but a boney, pale hand stills them.

It’s a challenge.

This emperor, wise though he may be, is about to make a fatal mistake. Just as the captain in the battle, he misjudges the young soldier. A twisted smirk betrays the belief that he’s already won.

In the silence, the clank of his goblet resonates through the courtyard and temple. The fall of his body is almost unheard by comparison and the young man stands there before him, expression firm and determined. The stone, so white before, now stains with purple and pooling red. A sight Luke will not likely soon forget.

The sword clatters to the ground and the young emperor now squares his shoulders. Behind him, the sun seems to brighten, shining heavy on his shoulders, on the crown of his head. Soft gasps are heard around the courtyard as the halo around the dark, tightly-coiled hair becomes almost golden. To them, it might be a trick of the light, but Luke sees it for what it is. A laurel wreath.

The guards drop to their knees.

One of the attendants asks, “What do we call you?”

“Finn.”

“Emperor Finn?” The skepticism is clear.

A moment of thought, and then, “Finn Viatores. Titus Finn Viatores Caesar Augustus.”

Though he calls himself wanderer, Luke knows his son has found his rightful place. Leia arrives at his side, rests a hand on his shoulder. Having seen Finn freed, Luke leaves at ease, eager to see the road he will walk in these new shoes.

_Goodbye, Finn._


	2. Part One: Wed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Dameron of Macedonia finds his lands willed away to the Roman emperor by his father. In a bid for peace, he brings an unexpected offer to the emperor's doorstep. It proves a challenging time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried for historical accuracy to... some extent. Thanks to Jay for beta-ing (except that last bit because I write at odd hours). Hope y'all enjoy it. PoV shifts a couple times between Finn and Poe, hopefully it's clear.

“You cannot do this!”

“Poe, my son, we are no longer a kingdom of war. Once perhaps, at the height of this empire, but now Rome knocks on our shores and we are not prepared to fight them. Our greatest exports for a long time now have been knowledge and wealth.”

“That does not mean it is wise to divide the kingdom like this! You think giving our mines for our coin to Rome will enforce a peaceful transition? It will only fracture what has taken centuries to build. Once, we left Athens in ruins, and now you would ruin us because you are afraid of war?!”

Poe stands firm at the table where he and his father had, not minutes ago, been peacefully dining. Now, he is risen from his seat, the chair pushed haphazardly back and just barely brushing the back of his knees. His hands are turned, palms resting on the marble tabletop as his fingers curl around to clutch the edge. Forget that this was not a discussion he wished to have; this was not the place to discuss Macedonian surrender before Rome had even set foot on their shores. And yet, this seems to be the dinner discussion for the night. 

“Forget that those lands were supposed to go to me so I could put them under the care of the kingdom, you are surrendering the lives and work of people who did not volunteer to become slaves to Roman rule!”

“This is beyond a fear of war, Poe. What if Macedonia goes to war? Who will suffer? Certainly not us. We are far inland and we sit seats of command. Those who will suffer should you bring us to war are the very people you should always seek to protect as king. Even if we win, the coastal cities will be in ruins. Thousands will be dead. Our economy will plummet in the ruins. Surely what matters more is the safety of the people and not the pride of the kingdom?”

“But father, there is no guarantee the people will even be safe under Roman rule. Their false gods are sad mimicries of ours, would not Olympus strike use down for worshiping poor facsimiles? You must know that our temples will be destroyed, statues of the Gods toppled. The people will not be allowed to worship as is their right to do. Is it better to sign them away to a life of subjugation if it means no sacrifice? Or should I, as king, put more weight behind protecting our way of life?!”

“The ways will change, Poe. That is the way of time. Change has already struck this kingdom a thousand times over her many years. The question is whether you embrace it for the sake of your people. Either way, my mind will not be swayed. The mines go to Rome. Whether you follow suit is your decision, but all who feel its effects are under your rule.”

The fight goes out of him now, and Poe sits back in his seat and leans back, slumping. One elbow rests on the arm of the chair, his head held in his palm. His father is right. Angry though he may be with this turn of events, he is not a new king and he is not a foolish one. Being trained in the ways of war was not a truly necessary part of his youth, and though he could probably command armies now, he has never had cause to do so. Moreover, Macedonia has not been to war in decades. The province was once a terrifying military power, leveling parts of Greece and consuming their resources and wealth. Now? Their exports are knowledge, science, and the coin made from the metals in the mines Poe’s father was willing away. They had both known for quite a while that Kes’ time was nearing and soon he would walk the gentle plains of Hades. Neither man had any illusions that Kes would see great paradise in the afterlife, being a king closed those gates by definition.

Much though he hates to admit it, Poe knows from his many sources that the Romans find the educated to be of great value, and Macedonia is well equipped in this regard. It angers him that this decision has been taken from his grasp, but he must also allow himself to see the truth of his father’s statements. In the event of war, lives are carelessly thrown away. Lives Rome might otherwise want. Now, a difficult decision rests upon his shoulders.

A week later, he stands on the bow of a ship leaving port from Dyrrachium, his himation draped heavy and close to his body to insulate him from the chill of the sea air. Nerves rattle him, but it goes unknown by his men. Poe has never been one to share his moments of weakness, forever fearing what his people would think of him if they saw the way his shoulders slump alone at night.

Instead, he stands there so picturesque he may nearly be a statue. His skin is tanned and smooth from his days walking the streets of the capital, hair resting in naturally perfect curls against his temple and forehead and fluttering lightly in the wind. Despite the guards a distance behind him, he feels quite alone in his journey. His father’s will is tucked away in his cabin, and Poe is now taking the time to deliver it to the new emperor of Rome in person, along with his offer to protect his province.

\-------~

Finn stands in the courtyard of his private chambers, overlooking the port and the smallish ship being escorted in by far larger Roman ones. They had initially made port in Ravenna, believing him to be there with his army. While an important detail in locating a leak in his counsel, it added time to the journey as the Greek king had been forced to go around the peninsula and come back up to reach Rome. He wonders what could be of such import to warrant the voyage, but no information was available. Apparently, the king had deigned only to speak to him for anything past a request to see the emperor for peaceful negotiations.

What negotiations was a wonder, but it certainly must be serious given the personal presence of a king. Finn knew little of the man, but Macedonia was not a small kingdom. For the king to pull himself away indicated some great effort on his part, and Finn had to admit he was curious. This was unpredictable behavior in uncertain times. Once more, it seemed war pushed men to strange places.

From a distance, he cannot see the king. Of course not. He’s miles from port, the ships only recognizable from the flags. He turns away, back to his chambers to bathe and finish dressing before the stranger arrived at his palace.

There’s some deliberation among his advisors as to how to welcome the newcomers. They insist he stay seated in his throne room, have the foreigners lead to his court to establish his dominance in this land. It seems like unnecessary pomp and circumstance to him. In the end, he settles for a choice none of his advisors take to; he meets the visiting king on the steps of the palace, intent on retreating to his chambers for an afternoon meal and discussion in privacy.

When the chariots pull up before the palace’s west entrance, Finn struggles at first to identify who is king among their party at all. No crowns nor armor is worn by several of the party, and there are no distinct features among their clothes to distinguish which among them is the king. Finn himself is devoid of his armor (again, against the advice of his counsel), but his formal toga in rich purple with gold filigree is clearly of wealth and stature.

It’s only when he lays eyes on the man stepping confidently forward, hand appearing from his loose-form garments, that Finn identifies the king. The man is older than him, clearly, though so are many people in Finn’s life. It’s never intimidated him before now, but something about this man makes him feel small. Though far from Finn’s own complexion, his skin is clearly more than sunkissed, and wrinkles tickle his eyes, though the joviality that surely put them there is absent now.

His arm crosses against his stomach and he bows about half way, head dipping and curls shifting. It’s such a display of deference so unexpected, and now Finn is definitely wondering as to the purpose of this trip. A new problem is immediately presented when the stranger speaks, entirely in Greek.

“I am Poe Dameron, king of Macedonia. I come to you in the wake of my father’s passing to deliver you important news and seek peace for my province.”

Only Finn and one of his guards understand the man. When Finn returns, also in Greek, the king’s head snaps up with an open display of shock.

“Welcome, King Dameron. I am Caesar Viatores. I am unsure as to what news it is you could bring me, but I am certain you will enlighten me. I take it your journey has been long, I encourage you to join me privately in my chambers for rest and a meal following your unexpectedly long voyage.” He steps down the marble stairs, turning with a sweep of his toga and offering the king his arm. It’s taken after a moment’s hesitation and Finn leads the stranger up the steps.

The walk to his chambers is short, the curtains pulled back by a guard. Finn stops and sends the man on an errand for maps of Macedonia, conveniently also leaving them in greater privacy. He is more than capable of defending himself should the need arise, but the king seems unarmed. Alone in his chambers, his arm is dropped almost immediately. An interesting move, he thought.

“You speak Greek? I brought a translator, I had been sure…”

Finn moves to the stone table, pouring two goblets of wine and returning to offer one to the visiting dignitary. “I spent much of my youth traveling. It’s where my name comes from. I overthrew the last emperor as an outsider, new to the city of Rome almost entirely. Now,” he says as Poe takes the goblet with one hand and produces a paper with the other, “what news and what business brings a king of such a large province so far from home? Is your capital not on the Aegean sea?”

There’s a moment’s hesitation before the other speaks, clearing his throat. Without waiting, Finn turns back to the table and pulls out a seat for him, which Dameron takes as he begins. “My father has recently gone to Hades. In his death, he left a will which gifts nearly all the Macedonian silver and gold mines to the Roman empire. Or, more directly, to you. It was not his desire that I fight this will, but handing you over such an important part of our economy on the eve of war will cause irreparable damage to the kingdom that it need not suffer.”

The king lays a paper on the table before him, and Finn takes it and breaks the wax seal to read the very will to which King Dameron is referring. With only a second’s pause for Finn to absorb this information, the other man begins speaking again.

“I bring you not only this, but a request for a diplomatic solution before war ravages our coastal cities. We once had a great army, conquered Athens and Thebes and many others. Now, the people are well educated and peaceful, our exports being knowledge and coin primarily. I wish to secure peace for my people, and as such I wish for a solution that allows me to continue looking after their affairs and representing their needs as- as citizens of the Roman empire.”

Finn drops the paper on the table and looks up at the king, shock written plainly on his features. He’d spent his whole life fighting for every inch he had claimed, and now? This man was dropping solidly a third of Greece in his lap. What luck had the Gods brought him? He takes his own seat, sipping at his wine and looking deeply contemplative for a moment. Silence hangs between them, and Finn uses the time to study King Dameron’s face.

While his expression is not open, Finn can see exhaustion apparent in his features. Something tells him it isn’t the journey that puts that weariness there. This choice evidently had not been an easy one, and it comes in the wake of a deep personal loss. Not one Finn can particularly empathize with, but he is certainly capable of understanding what that might mean for the other. His goblet finds its way to the table and Finn turns his head to look out on the courtyard and lingering city below.

“How do you propose to solidify and ensure the relationship between our two empires? It’s true, I had planned to take Macedonia first, and we have been lingering near your shores in preparation. Certainly it would save the lives of many in my army to transition power peacefully, and leave me with more to advance on Archaea to the south of you. I can see how it is entirely advantageous to us both, but I’m afraid I cannot call a simple declaration or handshake enough to satisfy our people. There needs to be a symbolic gesture of this union. What do you propose, King Dameron?”

If possible, the king looks even wearier now. “Poe. You may call me Poe. I admit, I agonized over this very question. We have few troops to provide, and even then they pale in comparison to your army. We’ve goods to export, but at this time, trade routes would simply not establish enough of a connection. I- There are many lands in the province that service the government without being owned by it, in that I own them personally. Much like the mines, in fact. I cannot simply gift these to you as part of the treatise, Macedonian rule demands that they are passed to each successive ruler through defeat either by death or marriage. It would do the Macedonians little good if I died.”

He knew the Gods would not deliver something so perfect. Of course there was such a caveat. “So you are suggesting marriage? I have no children, not even a consort, and you certainly do not look old enough for children to marry off. Are you to divorce your own consort then?”

Indeed, Poe looked old enough that it would be odd of him to not yet be married, and yet- “I am unwed. The marriage would be between the two of us, and- well, I had rather hoped you would stay in my palace in Thessalonica while your army moved south, direct them from there. Otherwise, I would reside with you here, or wherever you desire.”

“This is quite the surprise indeed. I have no need for heirs, as I suspect my time will be cut short when I am no longer a great warrior. Marriage between men is unconventional at best, but for political purposes as great as this, it won’t draw the same skeptical eye from the people. Tell me this, though. Why are you so prepared to leave your home behind for this? Is there not honor in fighting?”

Finn notices Poe leaning back in his chair, gaze also turned out toward the city and port below, perhaps even looking at his ship. “In truth, I fought hard against my father’s choice. Though I have been king for many years in the wake of his steadily ailing health, there’s still much he teaches me. This was the last such lesson. Though I fear for the freedom of my people, we are not equipped for this war. My hope was that, in coming to you like this, I could secure their freedom and safety. What am I king of if I send my people to the slaughter because I struggle to admit defeat? As my father said, change is always happening. This is another step. I only request you not ransack our villages and topple our temples. My people are no threat to your empire if allowed their worship.”

“Then we shall set a date for a wedding. You should locate a trusted advisor to take over many of your duties, as I will prefer to keep you by my side in a display of unity and the power of Rome.” It’s clear that Poe is not expecting such quick, concise acquiescence, judging by the sharp snap of his head. There’s something of a stunned silence, followed by a shallow nod. There are words on the tip of his tongue when the slap of sandals and swish of curtains alerts them both to company.

One is the guard, scrolls of maps in his arms. He lays them gently on the table at the far end. Finn is about to question this when the reason becomes clear. Food has arrived, platters carried by servants being set before them with gentle clatters against the stone. With curt bows, they are all waved away by Finn, the curtains falling closed as the last servant exits and leaves them alone once more.

\-------~

A week past and Poe feels every bit the stranger he did first sitting down with Finn. To say the man is somewhat reserved is to say the least. Rooms have been made available to Poe and his advisors, and there has been much work to be done. Poe rarely finds himself with Finn outside mealtimes, truth be known. This doesn’t terribly surprise him, they are both rulers orchestrating a massive exchange of power. That said, Poe would expect Finn to at least be more… chatty.

Instead, they sit in silence for every meal. Finn usually looks out over the city, a deeply distracted gaze on his face. Poe can see the gears turning as Finn’s jaw moves through every bite, progressively slowing until it occurs to him to take another. It’s a rather endearing feature, but it’s also about all Poe knows of the emperor. Finally, he reaches his wit’s end.

Finn is already waiting when Poe arrives for dinner, trudging heavy and tired. The emperor has not bothered waiting, mid-chew as Poe sits. Finn doesn’t even look at him, and the day has been just exhausting enough that Poe sees no harm in initiating dinner conversation.

“Why are you not yet married? An emperor such as yourself, you must be in high demand, and a consort would solidify your authority in a sense.”

“I am uninterested in women or marriage.” Finn’s gaze has not turned away from the distant sea, dark and unsteady beneath encroaching storm clouds. Poe attempts to process this information, turning it over in his mind.

“Why uninterested in marriage?”

“It is not something I particularly understand nor see as necessary except for in situations such as this.”

Poe can honestly say that this is a new philosophy to him. His parents, from what he remembers of his mother, had a very loving and tender marriage. Following his mother’s death, Poe had often asked his father just why he had been so sad. The answer had been the same every time; that kind of love is a strength in and of itself, and to have it torn from you is to leave a gaping wound in yourself. This is not all reflected in Finn’s sentiments.

“Surely for love, at the very least?” He finds himself leveled with a rather unreadable look. Perhaps the emperor is perplexed? That seems at least part of it.

“And what do I know of love? Nothing. So something built around a concept I do not understand is not of particular value to me. For politics, of course. This union serves us and our people both. What more do you care than for that?”

Naturally, Poe had rather not expected this. In his voyage here, he had thought many, many times on the nature of his relationship with the emperor should his offer be accepted. Poe liked men, his eye simply undrawn by women. He had, in his youth, been with a couple. Many of the guards supposed him a big flirt because of the easy, relaxed persona he put on and he had earned something of a reputation despite the few people with which he had found intimacy. Those experiences had been enjoyable in their own right, and Poe had supposed he could make this one enjoyable as well. There were duties that went with marriage, after all. It wasn’t taboo among Romans, he had heard, but there was a particular power balance inherent in the act. Poe had been prepared for the stain of being “emasculated” by such a union for the sake of his people. He’d done it once before, even. Perhaps it would be enjoyable this time, though his hopes hadn’t been high.

A soft sound pulls him from his thoughts, perhaps Finn clearing his throat, and he realizes he’s fallen silent. On instinct, he plasters a familiar, easy smile on his face only to realize it’s not entirely appropriate here. His shakes the smile away and clears his own throat in turn.

“And what is you expect of me, then? What is my role to be as your husband? There are certain… marital duties you must be interested in if you are not taken by women.”

Finn’s expression moves swiftly from unreadable to open contempt, and Poe feels as though his question has been answered. “My apologies, my Lord, I-”

“Silence. I would not ask that of you as a condition for our marriage. Should I ever take a partner, I prefer them willing in every sense, not as a consequence of circumstance. You will be of counsel to me, especially in aiding the peaceful transition, and you will attend the necessary events by my side. Of course, you’ll live with me wherever I am, and serve in my stead while I am in battle. These are all duties of your station as my husband. I expect no more from you.”

He knows he should say something, but all he has is stunned silence. In all his musings, this outcome had been entirely unexpected. Was he disappointed? Perhaps a bit. Finn was not unattractive; he stood in stark contrast to his people in nearly every way. There was the obvious, which left Poe wondering just where Finn had come from that he looked so different from the people he commanded.

But beyond that, Finn simply seemed to have a different demeanor. Among his advisors, he was largely quiet and contemplative, but every decision he laid down came with finality. Never once had Poe witnessed anyone trying to further argue with him. When it came to matters of war and Roman expansion, Finn seemed to favor always what would mean fewest casualties on both sides. It seems this would make great sense, but many of Finn’s most trusted continued to suggest laying waste to Greek lands as they were conquered. Every time, Finn turned the suggestions down. Certainly, Poe could be thankful for this at least.

Then there was the way Finn was among his soldiers. In the short week Poe had been there, Finn had been among his troops several times over, far more jovial there than anywhere else Poe had seen him. Even so, Poe noticed a sort of false tint to his demeanor, one he recognized as a mask. How often had Poe pretended to be a far happier, relaxed version of himself? He suspected the same of Finn as he watched him attempt to socialize as though it came easy.

They finish their dinner in silence, eyes turned away from each other and out toward the storming harbor.

\-------~

A month in and Poe still resides in guest chambers. Finn assures him this is a formality until they are married in a few days’ time, insisting that part of the reason is the upheaval of his own chambers to appropriately accommodate two people rather than one. Poe has never seen past the common area and courtyard, but he truly wonders how an emperor’s residence could be so barren as to need upheaval for the addition of a husband. Perhaps he will never know.

In the meantime, he has been buried in work. Twice, he has spent long nights with his own advisers, squeezing in every bit of business that needs attending to before they must return to Macedonia to carry out his will and preparations for moving the Roman army through their territory to Archaea.

On one of those nights, in fact just a few nights before, he’d been returning late to his chambers when he spotted Finn sitting on the steps down to his courtyard. In the dark, it took Poe a quiet moment to realize he’d unclasped his tunic at his shoulders and let it fall about his waist and pool against his thighs where he sits on the steps. In passing, one would nearly think him a statue for how silently and perfectly he sits. Poe had found himself stricken as he lingered behind a column lining the hall and watched.

It’s the first time Poe had noticed the emperor looking tired. Not tired in the hour, well past when anyone should be asleep, but tired in the slump of his shoulders and the creases around his mild frown. His face is clearly at rest, and this melancholy is his natural look. Again, Poe wondered what path the Gods had sent him on to leave him here, awake at such an hour, looking as he does over the empire he rules.

Back in his chambers and close to sleep, Poe realized that he still knew incredibly little about the emperor. He’d sat to his side as matters of the state were brought before his court, watched Finn hand down just punishments for crimes important enough to warrant the attention of the emperor. He’d stood just to the right and behind Finn as he spoke to thousands of troops just getting ready to leave port for the next invasion of Greek land. He’d even seen Finn break out the occasional smile. None of it feels genuine, and nothing speaks to the man’s past.

Now, two days before their wedding, and Poe looks at Finn over breakfast and ponders once more how Finn had come to be here. Not just how, but why, when it all seemed to make him so tired. When it seemed he felt little for the conquests of his empire.

\--------~

In truth, the wedding is a blur to Finn. He spends a great deal of time pondering the confused look on Poe’s face when he realizes just what Finn had meant when he said the affair would be kept small. On the brink of war, he had seen no need to waste money and resources on a marriage that was political. They dressed in fineries, of course, but none more than what Finn had largely already owned. For the first time, Poe had been made to wear the traditional tunic and voluminous toga, dyed a yellow so rich it was nearly orange, a striking difference to Finn’s own purple.

A feast happens in their honor, Finn sitting on his throne before a vast table of food and drink, beside Poe. On the floor of the court there is feasting, dancing, general merriment, but Finn spends the entirety of the evening seated in the same spot, slowly sipping his wine, ignoring searching looks directed at him by Poe.

The party is too loud, energetic, and long. There are customs of socialization to these settings he simply doesn’t understand. Perhaps, were he not such a great warrior, this would draw more ire. Instead, his prowess in battle buys him freedom from the expectation of participation by anyone.

Anyone but Poe, rather.

Through the evening, they had conversed idly and otherwise remained quiet. Poe had sat beside him all the while, looking rather like he wanted to join the celebrations they witnessed but never rising to do so. Only once had Finn suggested Poe joined them, only to be met with a look that told him this would in some way be socially unacceptable. How was it that a Macedonian king knew more of these unspoken rules than the Roman emperor? He does not know, but Poe’s expectations and sidelong glances have been hanging over him all night, and by the end of the evening, he is exhausted and ready to retire.

Back in what is now their chambers, the lanterns have been sparsely lit. Only a few illuminate the common area, but through the curtains to the bedchamber, Finn can see many more lanterns have been lit. He sighs quietly to himself, understanding the intent of his servants but finding it deeply uncomfortable.

Without words to Poe, he moves into the bedchamber, curtains swaying as he drops them, careless of whether his new husband is following him or not. He perches on the edge of the bed and undoes the knot tying his sandals to his feet, setting them carefully to the side as he peels each one off. The stone floors are cool to the touch, a relief from the warm flush the wine has put on his body.

A soft rustling of the curtains tells him Poe has finally followed him, though he wonders what delayed him. The king is standing in the doorway, curtains shifting latently behind him, watching Finn intently. The gaze suddenly makes him feel rather small. Not once has he forgotten that Poe is very much a king. Even now he sees it in the way Poe carries himself in the face of what appears to be uncertainty. What he could be uncertain of, Finn is not sure. He looks away and unclasps his toga and tugs at the belt around his waist, folding both carefully in his hands and setting them on the chest next to his sandals. Next come the ornate pins holding the shoulders of his tunic shut, tugged away and allowing the fine silk around his body to fall to the floor. Beneath, he’s not actually bare, wearing a simple leather subligaculum as most Roman soldiers do.

It’s only now, as he pads around the room blowing out lanterns that he notices Poe still watching him from the doorway. It seems he’ll have to acknowledge… whatever is going on. A familiar tension clutches at his chest, but he tries to push it away as he stares back.

Poe is the first to break the silence. “All night and you never once celebrated with your people.”

“What? No, I felt no desire to do so.”

“Never once? It’s a wedding, and weddings have parties. You looked miserable. Why did you carry on with a public ceremony at all if this union means so little to you?”

“It matters to the people. I was made aware of the need for something public.”

“Is that all the evening was for you?”

Finn studies Poe very carefully. There’s something… soft, around his eyes. He looks concerned, maybe sad. Finn can’t quite decipher it, but he gets the distinct feeling he’s said something wrong or upsetting. It’s been many, many years that he’s been on this path, since he’d set out on his own, and he’d rather thought he’d stopped giving away so readily how little he understands some things. But judging by the look on Poe’s face, he’s had a rare slip-up.

“This upsets you.”

Now Poe’s face looks openly distressed and confused. Finn feels a twinge of regret for putting it there, because he’s not-… he can admit that Poe’s face and physique are pleasant to look at. Over meetings, Finn has noticed how his brows furrow as he concentrates on something, the way he pulls his lower lip between his teeth for just a moment when he’s not quite sure of what to do or say. He’s not unattractive, and though they are now married, Finn wouldn’t know where to begin. That assumes he even knows what he wants, if anything, from the king.

For a moment, Poe appears to gape a bit like a fish. It’s an amusing look, but Finn isn’t smiling. He does need to make an effort toward keeping Poe happy, and this revelation seems to be doing quite the opposite.

“Finn, I-”

“That’s the first time you’ve called me that.” And it is. It strikes him quite suddenly. No one calls him Finn. It’s either my Lord, Caesar, or Caesar Viatores. This forces the realization that Finn doesn’t have friends or counsel close enough to call him Finn. Poe is perhaps the first.

“What? Called you Finn? I suppose, but that’s not the point. You’re the emperor, why have a public ceremony and celebration if you didn’t want it? If this is so miserable for you, why get married at all?”

“You know the reasons, I’ve told them all to you before. This marriage was and will continue to be advantageous to us both, as well as our people. The Roman empire will expand far further than its past emperors had ever dreamed, and it will be because of you and I that it does.”

“And what about when you want a real husband? Or a wife to secure children? Surely you must care that you will eventually want and need a partner in this.”

Finally, Finn looks away, that tightness in his chest returned. He rubs idly at it, as though he might be able to soothe it away, but it doesn’t help. Poe is still fully dressed and suddenly Finn feels quite exposed.

“This is not a discussion I wish to have. At the very least, not tonight. Shall we? It’s been a long night and there is still much to do tomorrow.” Without waiting for an answer, he blows out another torch and leaves the room barely lit, slipping under the silk sheets and wool blankets.

What follows is several minutes of incredulous silence and quiet shuffling, until Finn feels the movement of the sheets and the dip of the bed. From the way the sheets stretch, he knows Poe is laying down, but there is a large gap between them. He doesn’t know why this bothers him, but it does. He prays there is no more conversation, and in short order, Poe’s breath evens out. Finn eventually relaxes enough to do the same.

\-------~

The topic isn’t brought up again. In truth, very little changes. Plans and preparations continue as before, but every night Poe lays down beside Finn about as distant as a stranger. Not once does he regret the choice he made for his people, but Poe soon wonders if he’ll go crazy like this. Somehow loneliness feels worse when it is not coupled with isolation.

He’s beginning to look for ways to break down the barrier between them when one night, Finn wakes up screaming. His shrieks echo through the marble halls and resonate out into the courtyard, waking Poe in the process. The king bolts upright in bed, disoriented and filled with dread, but no one comes running. He listens for the clacking of armor and the slapping of sandals, but there’s nothing. Beside him, Finn twists and tears the sheets from Poe with another agonized scream. The absence of the guards tells him this is a common occurrence, and his chest aches just for that thought. Finn sounds as though he is in pain, but he looks fine?

Gently, his hand reaches out to grasp Finn’s shoulder and shake softly, but all he gets is more agonized moans and screaming.

“Finn?” Poe shakes harder, but nothing comes of it. “Finn.” Yet only another scream and then silence.

Finally, Poe tries again. “FINN!” He turns the emperor to his back and audibly gasps, stricken by the sight.

Finn is awake now. Poe can see the whites of his eyes in the gentle moonlight that streams through the curtains. There’s a thick sheen of sweat on his skin, and his face is marked with muddled pools of tears. In his hands, he clenches the sheets to his chest, the fabric shuffling softly as he pants hard. A string of spittle breaks on his lip with the force of his gasping breaths, and Poe doesn’t know if he’s ever seen someone look so terror-stricken.

For a tense moment, Poe has no idea what to do. The sheets are damp with sweat and Finn looks absent from his own mind. After a moment, Poe gently pries his fingers open to free the sheets and pulls them away, reaching his arm around Finn and guiding the emperor to sit up. Something tickles his arm, but he pays it no mind for now. The contact finally seems to snap Finn at least a little out of it, breath getting slowly steadier. His expression flits to one of shock, and Poe’s heart nearly breaks at how small the sound of his voice is.

“Poe? I- It’s alright, you can- I’m alright. Everything’s alright.”

Poe’s never heard a bigger lie in his life. “Sure. Why don’t we take a bath and get a servant to change the sheets? Then you can relax and go back to sleep refreshed.”

“I… I’ve never tried that. I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

Despite his words, Finn makes no effort to move, and Poe realizes a moment later that he’s shaking slightly. He sighs internally and his arm slips down to hook around Finn’s waist, hauling him across the bed and up. It’s a bit of an effort on his part, Poe is not quite as physically fit as Finn is, but he’s not incapable. With a bit of a struggle, he has a still dazed emperor standing and leaning heavily on him.

Moving to the royal bath is a bit of a struggle, but Poe manages to walk Finn into the warm room. Actually, it’s a bit surprising how warm it still is at night. He’ll have to figure it out later, but he gets them to the large bath and dips his toe in, happy to find it warm as well.

“Finn? I’m not quite a warrior like you, do you think you can get into the bath now? I can take care of the rest.”

There’s a long moment of silence and then Finn nods, righting himself slowly and taking considerable weight off Poe’s shoulders. He moves slowly in the dark, but Poe can hear the swish of the water as Finn steps into the bath. He grabs a lantern and goes around, lighting about half the others in the room just so he can see. It’s when he comes back that he sees Finn is still wearing the leather loincloth thing he usually wears under his tunic.

Poe, by comparison, is totally bare. Finn has never said anything of it, but he feels odd now as he kneels by the side of the bath and begins inspecting the many bottles there. While it’s not customary, he’s hoping for a perfume to add to the water that’ll hopefully soothe Finn. Eventually, he finds one with lavender and pours it in, swirling it around in the water to distribute it and steadily fill the room with the scent.

“Finn?” There’s no answer. Poe turns to look at the man and he looks entirely absent again, like his soul has gone and left a shell behind. He’d hoped the bath would wake Finn up a little, snap it out of it properly, but this… was not the case.

So, Poe moves to the mosaic steps down into the bath and slips in slowly. It comes up to about his waist and the bath is lined with low seats to bring the water up to one’s neck, another set to bring it to chest level. That’s how Finn sits in the water now, staring distantly. Poe crosses to him, placing a wet hand on either cheek and lifting his face to inspect it.

“Finn?” It looks as though the lights sort of come on behind his eyes, but they’re dull. There’s recognition there, but Finn looks so, so tired. Poe pats his cheek lightly, trying to get him to say something.

“Please stop.” Well, that’s something.

“Finn, what happened? Are you okay?” The worry is apparent in Poe’s voice, but he doesn’t care so much that he and Finn have had a pretty distant relationship so far. His father raised him to care for people, and no matter how far apart they are, Finn is still his husband.

“I’m fine, Poe. It happens on occasion. The guards know not to worry, I tend to just sleep poorly the nights it does.”

Poe is utterly unconvinced that this is ‘fine’ in any way. “Do you know what causes it? Surely something is wrong if you wake up screaming. You certainly did not seem fine staring blankly into the water.”

“We are not familiar enough for these questions. I’m fine, Poe. If you wish to sleep elsewhere so as to not be disturbed, that can be arranged. Please, do not ask any further.” There’s a sort of sadness to the way Finn says it. Not that he’s angry with Poe, but that he’s afraid or upset. So Poe pushes.

“Then let’s become familiar. We’re married, after all. How much longer are we to remain so distant? The rest of our lives? The rest of your expansion of the empire?”

This seems to get through. Finally, it feels like Finn is actually looking at him. Still, he looks apprehensive. Even so, he eventually says softly, “Have a seat, then.”

\-------~

He doesn’t want to talk about this. He’s never talked about it before, in part because there was no one to talk about it with, but mostly because he has no desire. That said, he’s tired, so tired, of being haunted by his past. Of keeping it to himself. And Poe… Poe is so earnest in his concern. Finn can feel it.

So he waits for Poe to sit next to him and takes a deep breath. It smells softly of lavender, though when that happened he can’t say. It smells nice. Somehow, Poe has made this comfortable; less alone. Finn takes another deep breath, feeling strange to have Poe sitting next to him. Their shoulders brush.

He realizes that he's rather starved for contact. Romans were none too shy when it came to contact. He'd had so much of it as a soldier, but since becoming emperor… nearly none. How odd, or perhaps fitting, that isolation came with power. Another slow, deep breath.

He leans against Poe.

The water swishes and swirls lightly as Finn turns his body a bit to rest his head against the king's shoulder. There's a sharp intake of breath, but a hesitant moment later, Poe's arm comes around his shoulder as it did earlier. This is better. This is comforting. He can do this, he can open up about this. He can start sharing some of this burden. Why not with Poe? The king was right, they were husbands now. There should be a trust implicit there, if not something of a relationship someday. Maybe this wasn't the best place to start, but he'd rather limited his own options by waiting so long.

“Before this, I was a soldier of the Roman army. The old emperor, he thought the best armies were decades in the making. Many of us were raised to fight since being children, taken from homes that could not pay taxes or committed crimes against the empire. I was one such child. In the training alone, I often killed my brethren, cut them down for being weak. I hated it. I began to resist what we were being taught, sought to protect my fellows even when they were downed. Though strong and powerful as a soldier, I never rose through the ranks due to my disobedience.

“My first battle, I hesitated. I was nearly cut down then and there by my captain. I looked into the eyes of a woman, defenseless and afraid, hiding behind rubble. I could not kill her. I watched her flee, only to be slaughtered by other soldiers. I killed no one. My captain caught me, screamed at me the same she always did. That I was weak, useless, a failed soldier.

“She believed me largely incapable of killing. She was quite wrong. I remember watching the silver coating of her breastplate reflecting my sword, dripping with her blood, six different ways as it bent around my blade. She fell so fast and I emptied my stomach right there before her corpse.”

His heart rate is rising, the scene like a vision in the back of his mind. “There was no stopping then. If I had been found, lost my edge, I would have perished. I rode through the battle on her horse, trampled those in my way, ran up the hill behind the town we were razing and saw my general. There was no time, I flew past but I remember feeling the warm spray of his blood on my cheek as his head fell from his body. I’ll never forget his face, bruised by the frightened trampling of his horse.

“And I could not stop. I knew I couldn’t. I found the emperor in the local vineyard, trying the sweet wines made there. He was standing on white stone. Purple and red look so sharp against something so pristine, but they mingle and look like nothing on my skin, on the hand with which I slew him. And then I was emperor. The horrors of that day still come to me in the night. I once thought they were spectral visions meant to punish me, but all that happens is the screaming.”

\-------~

Through the whole thing, Poe listens silently. It’s not until he lets out a harsh sigh that he realizes he was ever holding his breath at all. Poe’s quite familiar with war. As a young man, before he was king, he was known for his handling of chariots at the frontlines. He was accomplished, and he had killed. Yet somehow, his experience paled next to Finn’s. A soldier since being a child? That was… that was so much information to absorb all at once.

“You’re quite strong, you know.” Those are the only words Poe can seem to conjure in the moment, arm still draped heavy over Finn’s shoulders. “I’ve seen men suffer the memories of battle, feel it so deep in their souls they cease to live in one way or another. But you. You’re not just here, you’re _here_. In a palace you earned, ruling an empire. I’ve seen you. Immeasurable power and still, you seem to value every life you could just as easily toss aside. Under different circumstances, knowing this? I’d still proudly call you my husband.”

What a nightmare for a man to live. Of course Poe knew Finn had to have killed, but the way he speaks of it… he sounds so haunted by the experience. It’s clearer now why Finn opts to spare life wherever he can, even against the voices of his advisors. Poe can’t help but appreciate it that much more now. Finn’s strength is extraordinary to him, especially now that he finds the power to share it with Poe and his meddling concern. He thinks he could maybe learn to love Finn.  
\-------~

It’s this affirmation that catches Finn’s attention the most. Swishing water just barely echoes about the room as Finn sits up, eyes on Poe, examining him carefully. It’s not any sort of admission he’s ever heard before, nor one he would have ever expected. Not from anyone. Poe’s certainly surprised him and Finn is not quite sure what to say now. They both seem to be looking at each other in some kind of stunned silence.

Finn surprises himself and Poe both with his next words. “I think… I would like to try being more like actual husbands, and less like political ones.” He realizes as he says it that it’s because he wants to be close to someone. Being able to talk about his past with Poe- to even have the man wake him up and try to take care of him… it makes his chest ache for something he didn’t know he could ever want.

The silence hangs between them for another long minute, but Poe is slowly smiling and Finn isn’t sure what that means for him. For them. Poe softly asks, “May I?” and Finn has no idea what he’s asking but he says yes anyway, feeling a touch paralyzed with… something.

There’s more of that soft, swishy sound, the only sound in the whole room as Poe moves back across the seat. Soft dripping sounds as his hand lifts from the water, the small plops slowing as the last dregs of water travel down his elbow and fall a shorter distance. The sound of Finn breathing harder as Poe cups his cheek in a wet hand and pulls him steadily closer until their lips brush. It’s chaste and small and Finn doesn’t know what to do besides lean in to let Poe know that, in some way, he wants this. When they part, the light pop of their lips pulling away seems almost too loud in the silence.

“Was that okay?” Poe sounds very far away to Finn, his attention caught entirely on Poe’s face, on the latent tingle of his own lips. After a prolonged lack of answer, Poe speaks again. “...you’ve never done that before, have you?”

“No. There was not really cause or opportunity for me before now. It was common among some of the soldiers, but I never felt particularly welcome or inclined. In a sense, I’m glad for it. This was… pleasant.”

Poe smiles at him then, and Finn feels warm under the look, returns it genuinely. For some reason, Poe looks a little taken aback and Finn’s smile fades immediately, wondering what he did wrong. The king looks panicked and reaches out to touch Finn’s face again, tongue tutting softly.

“It’s just that I’ve never seen you smile quite like that before. It’s a bit breathtaking the first time.”

This sounds ridiculous to Finn, but he lets the smile creep back anyway, pleased that Poe’s eyes light up and crinkle at the corners in response. “I suppose I’ve never truly had cause before. This is enjoyable. Your company is enjoyable.”

There’s some sort of way Poe is looking at him, but Finn doesn’t totally understand what it is. Poe holds that face and Finn continues to look confused for a long minute, and eventually Poe speaks again.

“Why don’t we finish washing up and get back to bed? We can talk more on this tomorrow.”

Finn nods his assent, feeling exhaustion set heavy in his limbs.

\-------~

Days pass and Poe can sense the odd, subtle shift in Finn. It’s not much, and it’s really only around Poe, he notices. But still, Finn smiles a bit more freely. He also looks more openly tired or contemplative around Poe. As if his emotions are not so masked where he feels safe exposing them. He also seems to wear the loincloth thing less when he’s not in his armor, which Poe only knows from a day his tunic was hemmed a touch too short and he bent to pick up a fallen bit of parchment. Mind you, Poe had said nothing of it, merely filed the information and his brief flicker of want away for later.

There were also… little things, which Poe nearly missed at first. Little touches, bits of affection interspersed throughout the day. Small touches to his shoulder and lower back as Finn passed him, moved around him, any number of things. Constant, constant touching. Poe was wondering where it was all coming from, but he didn’t dare ask for fear that Finn might stop if called out on it. Besides, it wasn’t bad. He enjoyed the affection. It was just entirely unexpected.

The wedding hadn’t really been much of a delay in their plans, so Poe sees more and more of Finn as he sits in on more and more advisory meetings as the king of Macedonia Prima rather than as Finn’s husband. They have a plan underway to move ships across the sea and back to Macedonian ports, cross the province and set up camp in Poe’s homeland of Thessalonica. He and Finn can stay in his palace there and oversee the push into Archaea. Poe would feel worse about that, but Macedonia herself has crossed these borders before, destroyed the cities within as a display of military might. He feels better about it all knowing that Finn isn’t going to raze cities with women and children and elders. No, Finn wants to actually expand Rome’s empire, not just its borders.

The preparation is slow by the passing days, but quick by all other accounts. To Poe, it feels as it nothing is happening, and once the meetings begin to slow and lose frequency, he finds himself a bit aimless and missing company of any real sort. He had his father, a few friends back at Thessalonica, he’d had Finn for a little while. More and more he feels alone, though.

This only lasts for a week or so, really. One day, he wakes up and Finn is still there next to him in bed, fast asleep. He wonders at first why Finn would be sleeping in, given that he’d been early to rise every morning since Poe had begun sharing chambers with him. For a while, he lays awake, but no one comes to wake the emperor, which is odd. Eventually, Poe gives up his worry and lays back down, gravitating toward Finn where he sleeps.

Another little while and Poe has just started to drift off again when he hears a small snort followed by a yawn and some lip-smacking. Finn must be awake. He blinks a bleary eye open and watches as the emperor turns over, sheets shifting and pooling about his waist.

“Good morning, husband. You’ve slept later than normal I see. Everything alright?”

“Everything is perfect. I took a day of no duties to spend with you. Our time together as husbands has been sadly lacking, I find.” Finn smiles at him then, something small and private. Clearly thinking Poe is more asleep or more tired than he actually is, he reaches out to tuck a stray curl away, leaving Poe’s breath caught in his throat for just a moment.

“Were you going to tell me about this plan?” His tone is soft and amused, matching the smirk on his lips. Finn’s own expression matches, at least until he yawns and slowly sits up, rubbing at his eyes.

“In fact, no I was not. Since you were unpleasantly surprised by my… shall we say, haunting past? I thought I would make up that experience with a day of more pleasurable surprises. Starting…” Poe follows Finn’s gaze to the servant just poking her head through curtains on the east wall. Poe’s never actually gone out these curtains or really knew where they went, so seeing a servant there is a surprise of its own. “...with breakfast in bed.”

The emperor nods and the servant nods back before disappearing. Suddenly, the curtains sweep wide open and Poe finds himself looking out over a sunny orchard and distant farmlands and ocean. It’s a lovely sight, pleasant even if it isn’t the most beautiful in the world. It doesn’t need to be to mean something. A warm breeze rolls in that smells slightly of salty ocean air from the port as servants emerge from the orchard carrying food. There are only a few of them, but a spectacular array is laid out on the bed before them as Poe sits up. It all looks delicious and he’s rather taken aback by the planning that seems to have gone into this particular surprise. After all, why would servants be emerging from the orchard with food?

“What’s all this then? I’d expect them to come from the kitchens or something similar?”

For the first time to Poe’s knowledge, Finn looks… sheepish. “Some of it is, yes, but most of it is fresh from the orchard and gardens. The apples, figs, nuts, honey... the rest is from the kitchens but I wanted to… to impress you.”

“Well you’ve certainly done that. How long were you planning this then?”

“About two weeks. I wanted to make sure we got the best lamb and beef and hare. I know you aren’t accustomed to eating much meat, but I assure you it’s worth it. I also… I got some of the grapes and olives grown at your palace as well as goat cheese from your home. Oh, and wine from your vineyard.”

Poe is about to say something about the meat when he’s struck silent by Finn’s last words. He looks over the food, and indeed, he recognizes the silver tray from his home, recognizes the brand on the cheese, and even though it’s unlikely, he very nearly thinks he recognizes the smell of home on the grapes and olives. It pangs in his chest how homesick he is, the realization brought on by this little taste. He’s in awe of Finn’s consideration for him in this way.

“Finn, this…”

“Too much?” When Poe looks over, Finn is wringing his hands, nervous for some surely foolish reason.

“No, it’s perfect. So perfect, Finn, I can’t thank you enough.”

Before he can lose his nerve and before Finn can really question it, Poe grabs his chin and leans over to kiss him softly. It’s a wonderful start to the morning.

\--------~

After their breakfast together in bed (in which Poe eats so much he thinks he might never move again) they go to take a bath together. Except, it’s not where they bathed that first night, when Finn committed to being more. No, this bath is actually a pool that has to be filled with hot water fresh from the kitchens, because it’s out on the veranda leading down to the orchards from their chambers. Poe’s not actually sure he’s seen it before, but then again, he hadn’t really been aware the orchard had been there at all.

They head out there, barely dressed because Finn assures them they’ll be naked again in a few minutes, and Poe catches sight of the last of the few servants pouring water into the bath. It’s stunning in its mosaics, the water crystal clear in a way he has only seen in mountain rivers when out hunting. Left alone, he unclasps the brooch that holds his toga up, lets it fall to the floor of the veranda and makes to step into the pool, but Finn’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Not yet. Could you sit on the edge?”

Poe’s sure he has no idea what this is for, but after breakfast, he trusts whatever Finn has planned for him. He sits carefully on the edge of the bath, waiting patiently for Finn. After a moment, he looks over his shoulder, watches the draped cloth drop from his husband’s form, and really takes the time to admire him in the bright summer sun.

It would be a lie to say he’d seen anyone with skin so rich and dark, nor anyone so beautiful to his eyes. Finn’s muscles are apparent in the build of his body. They don’t cut as sharp as Poe has seen on some soldiers, but Finn is… well, kind of burly. Tight, dark curls of hair can be seen across his chest, and then again on his lower stomach, leading down to-

Poe very suddenly averts his gaze.

A moment later, he feels a hand on his shoulder, followed rather quickly by the presence of Finn’s legs on either side of his hips. Oh. The emperor scoots a bit closer, and Poe finds himself nestled quite nicely between powerful thighs, unsure of what to expect now. When Finn’s hands find him again, it’s a bit surprising. Poe knows those hands are not supposed to be as soft as they feel, and he realizes it’s probably because Finn’s coated them liberally in oil, which is now being rubbed across Poe’s shoulders.

And oh, how strong is Finn’s grip as he massages the bathing oils into Poe’s skin. He finds himself steadily going lax under Finn’s ministrations, shoulders moving with the tug and pull of the emperor’s hands. In the warm sun with a full belly, it all very nearly puts him to sleep.

But then, Finn’s hands move down one of his arms, freshly coated in oil again as they glide over the muscles of his upper arm, and then his elbow, and then his forearm. Finn’s thumbs rub in small circles and Poe can feel it pulling the muscles, encouraging them to relax and stretch. Even when Finn reaches his hands, the careful massage continues with Finn rolling hard into the heel and ball of his palm, along his fingers, relaxing muscles that have become cramped from writing. The same process is repeated all the way down Poe’s other arm as well, and he’s well and truly relaxed by the time Finn pulls him against his chest.

He feels a slight scratch from the tight hairs just starting to regrow on Finn’s chin as the man tucks up against him. Poe thinks the massage is over, but he’s proven wrong a second later when Finn’s hands, warm from friction and slick with oil, smooth down his chest. It seems more hesitant this time, though, and Poe’s not sure why until Finn speaks.

“Is… is this alright? You haven’t said a word since I started. I can stop if you want, I just thought you might… enjoy this?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, gods yes, Finn this feels wonderful. That’s why I wasn’t saying anything, I was transfixed.”

“Oh.” His hands pause and Poe honestly huffs a little in frustration, squirming back against the wall of Finn’s chest. “So… this is okay then? I was going to- to do all of you, if that’s alright?”

Poe isn’t sure what he means by ‘all of him’ but he has a pretty good idea, and he’s more than ready for it now. Finn has made him feel comfortable and safe and relaxed, and if he wants his hands to wander elsewhere? Poe really doesn’t object. “By all means, keep using your hands on me. It feels luxurious.”

He can feel the rumble of Finn’s soft laughter in his chest and Poe’s decided he’s more than comfortable with Finn’s way of showing affection. It’s only midday and Poe is feeling wonderfully appreciated by his new husband for the first time. He’s glad Finn wanted to make this something real, but even happier that it hasn’t felt forced. These are the thoughts on his mind as Finn’s hands glide over his chest and down his torso, over his abs. Several passes later and Poe has realized that Finn’s never once let his hands dip below the navel. It’s very gentlemanly of him, and Poe’s not actually sure if he wants Finn’s hands to wander or not.

It would seem that’s a thought for later though, because now Finn sits him back up and Poe realizes he’s very nearly fallen asleep then and there. He wonders why the emperor is pulling away, until Finn picks up a strigil and starts very carefully scraping away the excess oil on Poe’s skin. A lot of it has soaked in from the massaging, but he can see that it’s also softened up the dead skin and dirt to be scraped away by Finn’s gentle touch.

There’s a wide, shallow dish that Finn empties the strigil into after every pass. Even in this, he’s gentle and methodical. It never once hurts, doesn’t even feel particularly sharp. It actually begins to feel a bit like the massage itself, in a sense, working his tender skin away from his muscles. Once again, Poe finds himself very nearly dozing off, woken suddenly by the soft swish of water. His eyes open and he sees Finn in the pool, the bottle of oil in his grip and more being spilled onto his other hand. Poe tilts his head, gives Finn a questioning look. He hesitates.

“...I can stop if you would like. I said all of you but you can change your mind.”

“All… oh! Oh, you meant my legs!” Finn nods once, eyes on Poe, gaze nervous. The king smiles gently and reaches down, chuckling a little as Finn stiffens and stares at the hand. A moment later, Poe is cupping Finn’s cheek and the emperor looks much more relaxed if not still confused. His thumb, now soft from the oil, rubs over Finn’s cheek. It’s little more than an affectionate touch, but Finn still seems confused, as if expecting something else. Now embarrassed, Poe withdraws his hand and lifts a leg up for Finn, trying to move past the awkwardness.

Try though he might, Finn still looks deeply confused. His hands hover over Poe’s extended foot, as if ready to hold and massage, but don’t move in quite yet. Poe tilts his head, small and awkward smile still in place.

“Finn?”

The reply is immediate. “What were you doing?”

“Huh?”

“Just then. What were you trying to do with your hand on my cheek?”

The king is struck quite suddenly with a deep sense of sadness. He knows little of his husband’s past, but this speaks volumes. That he doesn’t know such a simple, tender touch is heartbreaking. Finn deserves better, that much is clear to Poe already.

“It was a tender touch, is all. Something gentle to show my appreciation. You know, how people touch each other to show affection and kindness?”

His fears are confirmed when Finn looks away, just barely hiding a slight frown. His hands close around Poe’s foot, thumbs circling into the tough skin under his toes. It’s very effective at helping Poe relax, if not a touch painful. More importantly, it’s a way for Finn to avoid the conversation.

“Finn?”

“Mm?”

“If you didn’t like it, I won’t do it again. I just thought- you touch me so often, I thought that this would be normal to you by now.”

Finn’s hands are already moving up his ankle and calf, but Finn’s gaze rises to meet Poe’s.

“I do?”

“Do what?”

A soft, frustrated huff. “Touch you.”

“You hadn’t noticed? Since the night I woke you, you touch me frequently, here and there. I thought you were doing it on purpose.”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Finn’s hands have stilled. “...But I’m not going to stop, if you don’t want me to.”

“I would rather you didn’t stop. You were so distant for so long. I like it. I like this. I like when you touch me.”

The most beautiful, shy smile spreads across Finn’s face as he looks away. It exposes his teeth, rounds his cheeks, crinkles his eyes. Poe almost feels as if the sun shines brighter for Finn’s smile. Whatever fear he had that the admission would be too direct was gone now, and Poe wiggles his toes until he has his leg to himself again. His hand finds Finn’s cheek, holds him steady as Poe leans down to kiss him.

He can’t really put his finger on why, but it’s different this time. Maybe because Finn reaches up with a warm hand to cup Poe’s neck, matching the soft embrace. Or maybe it’s because it finally feels like Finn is trying to kiss back, rather than just accepting whatever Poe bestows upon him. The longer they kiss (far longer than ever before), the more he can feel the tiny pushback from Finn’s lips, the tweak of muscles in his cheek as he smiles, the soft huff of air as he breathes through his nose.

Quite suddenly, Finn’s rising onto the bench below, putting them more level with one another as his arm slides fully around Poe’s waist. This is nice. He likes this.

Until Finn drags him bodily into the water with a giggle. A giggle! An adorable little laugh of mischievous joy that Poe can honestly say he’s never heard before. Never mind how happy this makes Poe. The joy it brings Finn is a blessing unto itself. Poe desperately needs more of those giggles, more of that smile. Except for right now, when he’s laughing in shock at being plunged fully into the warm water, slinging wet curls out of his eyes. Even before he can see, he swipes his hand through the water and splashes the emperor right back, the both of them still laughing brightly. Poe finally gets his eyes clear of water and stands there, taking in the vision that is his new husband.

Finn stands there, up to his waist in crystalline water that only barely distorts the silhouette of his legs. Water is dripping down his skin, over hard muscle honed as a warrior. But this is less striking than the very _aura_ that suddenly surrounds Finn. Poe will later wonder how it could seem that Finn was standing in front of the sun, haloed in its light, when it should have been far overhead at midday. Finn’s hands are floating lightly on the water, ripples still splashing over his fingers as he reaches for Poe. That smile, so utterly joyous, is still upon his lips. Poe could nearly swear there’s a twinkle in his eye. Should he ever have cause to smile like this more, Poe can clearly see where laugh lines would be around his mouth, at the corners of his eyes. Altogether, he’s just… a vision.

And Poe? Is absolutely stricken. Dazzled. Staring, yet somehow not noticing as Finn approaches. He only snaps out of it when he feels warm hands on his waist and suddenly realizes that Finn is taking up even more of his field of view than before. Luckily, they’re equitable in height, which only makes it easier for Poe to look into those beautiful eyes-

“Poe?”

“Mm?”

“Was that okay? You got so quiet…”

Poe chooses to answer with another kiss, leaning in and letting his eyes close as their lips connect. For the briefest moment, he fears that Finn won’t kiss back like he did only a minute ago. But it truly is for only a moment that he feels this fear, because almost immediately Poe feels arms sliding around him, feels unbearably soft lips molding against his own. He bends at the waist, not leaning back on purpose so much as pushed by the mounting force of their kiss. His arms wrap around Finn’s shoulders and there’s that small tickle again, but yet again he thinks nothing of it. All he can think of is the warming of the cooled water between their bodies, the way his lips ever so slightly stick to Finn’s every time they separate and kiss again. Whatever space existed between them becomes non-existent and Poe is shocked by how natural it feels to be this close, saddened by how long it’s taken to feel this at all.

Who knows how long the kissing lasts? It’s slow and constant and there’s a heat behind it but neither of them pushes it to that next place Poe is sure they’re not ready for. Not that he doesn’t want to, but right now? There is no need. This is new and he wants to explore it, enjoy it, this new comfort Finn has with him. The kissing just goes and goes until finally Poe starts to feel breathless, smothered, and notices Finn breathing hard, much the same. Even when they separate, they stay close, sharing breath. So close that Finn’s face doesn’t fit into frame, leaving Poe’s eyes to dart over every feature, appreciate the open happiness there.

Neither of them speak for a long minute, maybe two. It’s just staring, enjoying the shared space. Eventually, it’s Poe who breaks the silence. He doesn’t sound sheepish so much as cautiously teasing.

“I hope you found that as enjoyable as I did.”

Stars above, but that smile is so dazzling. Finn kisses Poe’s cheek and he really wonders how the tables on this turned so quickly in his favor.

“I suspect I found it even more enjoyable.”

“I doubt that is possible!”

Finn doesn’t let go and neither does Poe. He wonders what comes next, it feels as though this moment should and could last forever. Nothing of the outside world, of the impending war, of political life is tempering this moment with harsh realism. Poe goes for another small kiss, so much softer and sweeter than before, and finally breaks away to sit on the bench up to his chest in water. He holds his hand out to his emperor, his husband, an invitation to join.

To his great pleasure, Finn takes his hand and moves to sit with him. They lean together, easy and natural, and Poe finds Finn’s arm slipped around his waist. It’s comfortable, intimate, inviting. Maybe a few more kisses wouldn’t hurt.

He turns to look at Finn, intent on stealing another kiss, and he’s met with a gaze so intense he nearly shies away. There is such deep, caring intensity in the way Finn watches him, as though Poe were the only man in the world. It makes the king smile nervously, the shyness apparent in his expression, but Finn doesn’t back down. Instead, Poe pulls him into another lingering kiss, wet hand on his stubbled cheek. He thinks maybe he can get drunk on the feel of the emperor’s lips, how soft and sweet they are on his own. Certainly he seems to be trying. They become inseparable for a long moment, the only sounds around them the slide and pop of their own lips, the swirling of the water.

Once again, Poe finds Finn’s hand cupping his neck, angling his head perfectly to keep their mouths slotted together in longer and longer kisses. They both feel breathless and Poe’s body is starting to hum, the familiar coil of lust flushing his skin more than the heat of the water could explain. He can feel it in Finn, too, the way his muscles tense, contract, the way he seems to be trying to control some part of himself but keeps letting it slip as he’s distracted by Poe’s kisses. Maybe they’re not ready for what he wants, but they feel ready for more than this.

Begrudgingly, Poe breaks away, tickled to find Finn chasing his lips for the briefest second.

“Warm and lovely though this is,” he mutters, voice barely above a sigh, “perhaps we would be better suited to our chambers?”

Finn picks it up easily and nods. He smiles, but it’s a touch shy. Poe is left wondering why. Either way, Finn pulls away and stands, a hand held out to Poe. He takes it gratefully and together they step carefully out of the pool. Finn leads the way, and Poe realizes he’s never seen the emperor’s back until now.

Perhaps because it is as practical as it is symbolic. Finn’s back is littered with scars, from small to long and thin. Some can barely be seen, clearly old and little more than a pucker of his dark skin. Some, however, are still pink from healing. How old were they?

Finn crosses the room, unawares, and comes to a halt at the opening to the other courtyard and the further vineyard, hand on the rope to draw the curtains. The sun is low in the sky, making the water of the harbor almost blindingly bright. Poe approaches slowly.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

Poe lays a careful hand over a few of the many scars. From war, he assumes, though he does not know.

“It is.”

“Poe. You know I was talking-”

“I know what you were talking about. And I know what I meant.”

Finn looks over his shoulder, his expression guarded if not a touch nervous. Poe leans in, kisses a scar high on his shoulder, finally takes a step closer. His arms wrap around the emperor, hands settling on his broad chest and he leaves more and more little kisses peppered across what he can reach. At first, the muscles under his lips are tense, but slowly they relax, Finn relaxing along with them. His lips wander, from shoulders up Finn’s neck, just past his ear, where Poe stops to whisper.

“Whatever they are, you are radiant as ever.”

In that moment, Finn turns in his arms and kisses him. It’s different from before, there’s a longing to it that Poe has never experience before. A patient desperation. Finn’s arms wrap tight around his waist and they stand together like that, naked bodies impossibly close as their teeth clatter and their lips swell from the force of their kissing, breath shared to the point of breathlessness. For a long moment, they stand, passion mounting in a way Poe had entirely unexpected. Passion unlike any he had known with any past lovers. The needy force of Finn sends him back a step, one that Finn immediately follows. They move like this, sudden and swift and somehow in tandem, until Poe feels their bed at his back.

Hesitation strikes quick but Poe can feel it, the momentary spark of nervousness from Finn.

“Have you done anything like this?”

“Not with someone I cared to be tender with.”

There’s a lot to unpack in that statement but Poe refuses to dwell on it. They’re here now and it has been so long that Poe has wondered after Finn, over the kind of man he is, over the potential of their relationship. Now they’re here and he won’t let hypotheticals break away. He wants to treat Finn, show him what passion looks and feels like.

“Lay back on the bed for me?”

For a moment, Finn seems to be searching Poe’s face for a hint of what’s to come, but Poe feigns innocence and distracts with soft touches. Finally, Finn tears himself away and crawls onto the bed, giving Poe a very nice view before he lays back. He looks fairly shy, an expression Poe finds endearing.

The king himself takes a moment to walk around the room, draw the curtains. Not so much for fear of prying eyes, but because he likes the intimacy of a closed-off space. He crawls onto the bed over Finn, straddles his hips as he tugs down the curtains around the bed. Though sheer, it narrows the space even more, leaving Poe feeling alone in the world with Finn at the center of his attention. Exactly as he wants it.

From where he sits, he leans down to kiss the emperor once more. It comes easier every time and this time is no different, Finn’s lips parting easily, hands bracing against Poe’s sides. That heat, that intensity is quickly found once more, a flush spreading over both of their bodies. In this space, private and small, their breaths seem loud and harsh to their ears, but Poe loves it. He can hear the small gasps of want from Finn when he slides a tongue across a plush lip, nibbles gently.

Their bodies respond in kind and Poe can feel it, feel the emperor harden beneath him. He rocks his hips once, finds Finn’s fingers tighten over his hips for a moment in response. There’s a nervousness there that Poe intends to soothe. His lips breath from Finn’s, travel across his jaw and down his neck.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “Let me show you.”

The hesitancy remains, but it lessens. Poe continues his exploratory kisses, stopping on occasion to leave small love bites. Every one gets a reaction from Finn; a small gasp, a shudder, a twitch of his muscles. Finally, he reaches between them, can feel where they slide together in shared arousal, grasps their cocks in hand. At this, Poe is not strictly speaking practiced, but he assumes he is more so than the emperor. It’s a good assumption, because Finn moans properly this time. Poe’s hand works them in tandem, slow at first, until he finds himself distracted enough that he can’t quite keep a rhythm.

The sounds coming from Finn are so delicious, so sweet to his ears the Poe simply has to taste them. Their lips connect once more with small keens of pleasure, Finn arching into it, arms wrapping around Poe once more. It limits the room for his hand so he pulls it free, angles his hips to grind slowly against the man below him. Finn picks up quick, plants his feet to flex his hips up, matching every rock of Poe’s.

It’s clear how much Finn wants to touch, but Poe is finding it limits the glide of their bodies against each other. He pulls Finn’s hands away, tangles their fingers together and presses Finn’s arms above his head. The stretch of his body, the curve of his back made by the reach seems to set them in a sweet spot. Trapped between their bellies, the friction is perfect, slow and heavy and tantalizing. Poe’s shoulders are tight with the building desire and need, lips rough and swollen and sore from all the kissing, but he hardly cares.

Together, they settle into a perfect movement, every rock punctuated by small gasps, exhales of effort, surprised grunts. Poe can feel a telltale dampness, precum slicking the way and adding a surprising glide. Finn strains a little against his grip, but not enough to truly challenge it. They get lost in each other like this, the rock and twist and motion of their forms together atop silk sheets. Which each passing minute, it becomes more frantic, more harried, more _needy,_ but never do they fall out of synchronization.

It surprises Poe to realize suddenly how fast and hard they’re rocking against each other. He’s been vocal before, but Finn is more so, the man’s chest rumbling against his own with every longing moan. Their kisses are sloppy, broken, and soon they’re simply breathing each other’s air as they move.

“Finn-” so softly does Poe gasp it, yet it sounds so loud to his ears.

“I know, Poe, I-”

“ _Finn-_ ”

The words cut short between them. The mounting pleasure in every stretch of Poe’s muscles snaps as he comes, a messy heat between them. He pulls back and watches the twist of sheer satisfaction on Finn’s face as his husband follows him to completion, eyes slid shut and mouth parted in a long, silent gasp. Such bliss in the muscles of his expression, Poe is almost in awe.

Altogether, they both let out long breaths, coming down from the high of shared intimacy. Finn’s eyes flit open, stare at the ceiling for a moment before daring to Poe. Nearly immediately, that blinding grin is back and Poe can’t help but smile in return. Finn catches his gaze, holds it fast, and between them is something perhaps more intimate than anything they just did. There’s reverence in that look, it leaves Poe feeling cherished. Feeling loved, though he’s certain that’s silly.

They roll onto their sides, Finn squeezing Poe’s hands before letting go in order to draw the king close to his chest. They share another kiss, so soft and lingering. The mess between them is forgotten for now.

“Was that tender enough for you?” It’s meant in jest, but Poe genuinely wants to know how he did. Finn’s expression tells him everything.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you.”

\-------~


End file.
